He laid me down on the bed and sat by me for hours, pouring out floods of tenderness and goodness, and promising to win back for me, with God's help, the affection of such of you as were angry. And he loves me more and more. Today we have been together a fortnight, and he said to me with a deep, serious tenderness…“I kissed your feet, my Ba, before I married you—but now I would kiss the ground under your feet， I love you with a so much greater love.” And this is true, I see and feel. I feel to have the power of making him happy… I feel to have it in my hands. It is strange that anyone so brilliant should love me,—but true and strange it is…and it is impossible for me to doubt it any more. Perfectly happy therefore we should be, if I could look back on you all without this pang. His f***ly have been very kind. His father considered him of age to judge, and never thought of interfering otherwise than of saying at the last moment,“Give your wife a kiss for me” this, when they parted. His sister sent me a little travelling writing desk, with a word written,“E.B.B. from her sister Sarianna.” Nobody was displeased at the reserve used towards them, understanding that there were reasons for it which did not detract from his affection for them and my respect.